


the lick of fire

by elevenoclock



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-03
Updated: 2011-07-03
Packaged: 2017-10-20 23:40:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/218352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elevenoclock/pseuds/elevenoclock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've been allowed a small fire tonight, and Jon is glad for its light and warmth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the lick of fire

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Session 4, Round 3 of The New Pub. The theme was "Textures & Sensations", and this piece was written in 20 minutes for the prompt "the lick of fire". Join us every Saturday afternoon at http://thenewpub.livejournal.com!

[original link](http://thenewpub.livejournal.com/7103.html)

They've been allowed a small fire tonight, and Jon is glad for its light and warmth, wrapped in his cloak and sitting with his back to the camp. He can hear the sound of horses shifting uneasily behind him, and men asleep in their tents, snoring uneasily. All that's before him, though, is dark and silent.

It's a bitter night, and if it weren't for Ghost beside him, Jon knows he would be shivering. He runs his hand through the wolf's thick fur; he's felt closer to his direwolf over the last few nights, dreaming of running through the woods and breathing steam into the black forest, hunting prey, circling the camp. He wakes up rested, and Ghost appears within minutes, watching Jon with eyes that seem to _understand_.

And Jon knows that he could move closer to the fire, and to its precious heat, but he prefers instead to curl into Ghost. The fire still brings back memories of that terrifying night on the Wall, of eyes as blue as ice and death returning to life, the lick of fire against his skin, burning his hand, and the smell of death burning.

As though sensing his troubling thoughts, Ghost shifts closer, huffing. A small comfort, but one that Jon takes gladly, here beyond the Wall, where winter is coming and the dead walk to earth and an army gathers before them.

Jon tightens a fist in the pure white fur and holds on.


End file.
